


Pull yourself together (we're not going down)

by LightningFB1



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Beauregard twists her newly found ability a little bit, Canon Universe, Change of strategy, F/F, First Kiss, Spoilers from c2e55, Tumblr Prompt, Writing Prompt, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 05:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18204347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningFB1/pseuds/LightningFB1
Summary: Yasha deserved to be kissed under the soft, pale light of the moons. The sound of crickets, maybe a waterfall or a creek, would be the only thing letting them keep track of the time passing by. Beau’s mind, heart and body would be consumed by Yasha, Yasha, Yasha.





	Pull yourself together (we're not going down)

**Author's Note:**

> Someone write fic or make fanart where instead of punching Yasha to break the spell, Beau kisses her instead. 
> 
> Prompt by @alittlegayjellybean in Tumblr
> 
> I took some artistic liberties, I haven’t really checked it so there might be some mistakes there because English isn’t really my forte. I hope this is enough to scratch the itch… c;

Yasha deserved to be kissed under the soft, pale light of the moons. The sound of crickets, maybe a waterfall or a creek, would be the only thing letting them keep track of the time passing by. Beau’s mind, heart and body would be consumed by Yasha, Yasha, Yasha. She deserved nothing but Beau’s undivided attention, she deserved to be worshipped and cared for. Because Beau… let’s face it, she’s always been a fuckwad… but for Yasha, she’s willing to commit in a way she hasn’t felt the need before.

The scent of the summer breeze would have nothing to the leather and smoke clinging to Yasha’s travel clothes. The cool, humid air of the night would fight a lost battle against the warmth radiating from her body as Beau’s arms were thrown around her neck and their skin touched and… it would feel like sparks of electricity chasing away any other trace of sensation.

And Yasha. Delicate, careful, beautiful Yasha would have a moment to remember with one of those rare, soft smiles on her lips whenever the Stormlord took her away. That’s how it should be. That’s the least she deserves.

Beau should be ashamed of herself for giving her any less than this.

 

* * *

 

 

Chaos ensues. There’s fire, and then there’s water, and then there’s red scattered all over the place. The roars are deafening and the voices in their heads are making everything confusing, turning friend to foe and enemy to puppet-master.

There’s a sickening sound and Beau fights a grimace.

The end of her staff connects with Yasha’s nose. There’s a thick line of blood running down, stopping at her upper lip. Yasha doesn’t even seem bothered. Her eyes are devoid of any other emotion but cold, blind rage when her face turns back around to burn holes into Beau’s forehead. It’s mildly irritating that she won’t even look at her in the eyes, but still probably for the best, because Beau isn’t sure she can handle it without feeling the last tendrils of her hope unwrapping themselves from her furiously beating heart and leaving her empty and cold.

Beau wants to reach out. Yasha is stuck in this nightmare while her friends fall and her enemies use her power and strength to take them all down. She needs to wake her up.

With a great amount of effort, she strikes again. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Caduceus so very still on the ground. In the second it takes to pull her fist back, she catches Jester’s hands clutching her knees as she tries to stay up. Utterly spent and heaving labored breaths, Caleb fights against the darkness trying to take him once more. They’re tired, they’re losing, and they’re going nowhere while that fucking creature puts them against one another again and again.

Beau strikes, her anger fueling her muscles and forcing her fist to sink in Yasha’s gut.

“You’re in–”

There’s a small sound of discomfort, but Yasha’s expression remains the same. Her nostrils flaring while she looks straight through Beauregard, whose whole arm throbs painfully. Yasha is tough, and she’s strong, but Beau is fast. Her fist pulled back, she’s ready for a third strike, desperation now clawing at the edges of her mind and chasing away the anger. There’s fear there, raw and unbridled.

“– a toxic relationship!”

Dread colors her voice and her fist freezes midair. Her friends are a hairbreadth away from dying. The only family she’s ever cared for and they’re killing each other. They’re destroying themselves and this fucking beast is just finishing them off. Beau is playing right into these creatures’ hands.

It’s the stupidest epiphany, because it’s as obvious as it gets, but it’s paralyzing and before she can think better of it, the hand curled into a fist relaxes. The knuckles ready to break bone move hesitantly, tracing the line of Yasha’s jaw and Beau surges forward without missing a beat.

Yasha’s lips taste like iron and dust and the guttural sound in the background is nothing like the cricket ballad she had had in mind. There’s no creek nearby but stagnant waters that reek of rottenness and sulphur. The air is humid and warm, but it’s certainly not pleasant, and every muscle in Yasha’s full body has gone taut.

Beau has a second to consider, even like this, it wouldn’t be the worst way to go if the Magician’s Judge embedded itself through her torso right now. That second seems to stretch impossibly long and it might have been hours for all she knows, because despite the direness of the situation, there’s nothing but Yasha everywhere.

There’s her warmth and her scent and her voice calling her name and the way her eyes brighten up whenever she sees Frumpkin do a trick and the way she strides ahead with purpose whenever she sees a new flower and the gentleness with which she plucks it and places it between yellowed pages.

Beauregard doesn’t have true consciousness of what’s going on at first, what she’s doing, but when Yasha’s muscles go slack and the clank of metal on the ground reaches her ears, realization hits and Dairon’s words make sudden sense in a way they hadn’t before. It’s Beauregard’s own essence that is reaching out for Yasha. It’s Yasha’s own life force that’s responding, mingling with her ki in a way that’s more intimate than anything else she’s ever experienced. And it’s beautiful. It’s bright. This soul Beau is reaching for feels like it’s been touched by the gods themselves.

Kissing someone like Yasha should be the culmination of an adventure, the reward the hero wasn’t expecting, wasn’t searching for, couldn’t imagine they could get even in their wildest dreams. But after dealing with the terrorizing archnemesis, – because no matter how fucked up, heroes win in the end – they got a kiss from the girl of their dreams and everything would fall in place at last.

And it’s nothing like that, but it’s just as wonderful and perfect.

Beau stands back slightly dazed and, at the same time, fighting back the urge to scream and jump and run and maybe kill a demon or two or raid the fucking abyss by herself with her fists as her only weapon. But she’s still and silent, instead, staring into mismatched eyes that blink slowly while adjusting to their surroundings with a renewed sense of clarity.

There’s a pause and for a brief moment, Beau thinks she’s failed and done a terrible thing Yasha will never forgive, because there’s that fire again in her gaze. There’s that spark of fury she’s come to know and Beau feels the hope finally abandoning until the corner of Yasha’s lips curls into a barely there smirk. Her heart skips a couple beats because they’re both staring at each other like they’ve found something unexpected and precious, something divine… Meanwhile, the fucking irony… a giant demon growls and hisses, hurt and desperate right behind them.

“I’m sorry,” Yasha’s voice brings her back to this plane, but it is a soothing balm, because it’s her Yasha again. Bloody fingers tighten around the hilt of the recovered sword and she turns to face the enemy, taking a moment to catch Beauregard’s eye over her shoulder with an intensity that burns her bones to ashes. “This is a conversation for later.”


End file.
